Sandy Toes and Salty Kisses
by sadlady
Summary: After a mission goes wrong, Bodie is guilt ridden and unapproachable. Doyle, thinking a short holiday will help is unaware of the events that will change both of them


Usual Disclaimer

I don't own the characters of Bodie and Doyle, or any others from the TV series. They belong to Mark One Productions and Brian Clemens.

I borrow them to write fiction for my own (and hopefully your) pleasure, with no financial gain to myself or anyone else.

SANDY TOES AND SALTY KISSES

It was one of those balmy late September days, when summer forgets that it should be quietly slipping away and instead turns up the heat in the day.

Newberry Beach, near Combe Martin was a small and secluded place, just right for those who craved peace and quiet. Even in the height of the holiday season, its lack of arcades, beach goods and a cafe, ensured it remained a haven of solitude, offering just the basics for a day by the sea.

It was precisely because it was off the beaten track, that Doyle had chosen it for a few days respite. He also fervently hoped Bodie would show some reaction, some awareness and get back to his usual sartorial and articulate self. He was becoming more and more worried about the silent and taciturn man who accompanied him everywhere, said very little and looked as if he carried the problems of the world on his broad shoulders.

They'd left their hotel with a picnic lunch and other accoutrements because Doyle had decided a day on the beach would do them both good. The weather was fine, and the beach deserted. Doyle dumped the foldaway chairs on the sand, found a stone and began to knock a windbreak in place. Bodie just stood there, holding the bag with their food and a Thermos flask. He made no offer to help, nor did he make any other comment.

"C'mon Bodie. I'm not waitin' on you hand, foot and finger!" Doyle gave another thump to the windbreak.

"Put the bag down and sort out the chairs will you."

Bodie stared vacantly at Doyle and dumped the bags on the sand. He picked up one of the little metal chairs and unfolded it, before repeating the action with the second.

Sighing Doyle threw the stone aside, and plonked himself down on the nearest chair. He looked at Bodie and then at the other chair. Bodie sat and pulled a paper out of his bag. He rifled through it, not even making his usual ribald comment on the ample charms of the Page 3 model.

Surreptitiously, Doyle gave his partner a quick look. Bodie lay back in the deck chair, staring out to sea. His bare feet were rhythmically digging into the sand, his toes coated in the damp substance. Doyle could almost see the man's brain working, and he knew Bodie was reliving the recent Tilbury op, a battle royal with a group of Russian sailors who weren't all they claimed to be. The fighting had spilled out of the dock area and into the busy high street. Bodie had chased one of the Russians, only to come face to face with the man using a young woman as a shield, his gun pressed against her head. Desperately trying to talk the man into releasing her Bodie had watched helplessly, as the sailor, without warning, threw the woman against a brick wall and pointed the gun at him. Doyle, following behind, shot the Russian immediately, and the two of them had raced over to the young woman.

She lay on the pavement, her face a mask of blood where she had hit the wall with such force. Despite the best efforts of the ambulance men, the woman had died at the scene, an innocent victim – collateral damage.

Since that day, Bodie had become silent and morose. Nothing seemed to touch him. He spent the required hours with Dr Ross, who reported back that Bodie was fit for duty only because he knew how to play her at her own game. He manipulated the questions, and from his answers, there was nothing to suggest he couldn't continue working. George Cowley watching quietly from the side-lines, took the decision to put his number one team on leave.

'_Doyle will find out what's going on in that head' _he thought. _'It might throw up some interesting challenges'._

And so Bodie and Doyle went on their holiday.

The weather remained warm for the rest of the morning. Doyle unpacked the picnic lunch, and they ate the sandwiches in a desultory manner. All Doyle's attempts at conversation were answered in a monosyllabic tone and no eye contact. Eventually he gave up, and lay quietly in his deck chair, wondering how he could help his friend. Things had been strained between them before, but the Russian business had brought things to a head.

Doyle had become increasingly aware that Bodie seemed to need more from him, but he had no idea what. They spent so much time together with work, that a deep affinity was bound to grow. That's what made them good at the job. However, Bodie had decided they should spend their time off together as well. His visits to Doyle's flat had become more frequent: even when Doyle was with a girlfriend, Bodie often tagged along

Lisa remarked on it a couple of days before Tilbury.

"Ray, do you think we could have a night to ourselves, without Bodie kipping on the sofa," she asked. "I want to have loud, noisy sex with you, and all I can think about is him lying there. It's horrible having to hold back."

She gave him a seductive look, and in an instance he knew their relationship was over. He knew if he had to choose between her and Bodie, there was no contest. Always aware he loved both men and women, Doyle knew that Bodie would always come first. He also accepted that Bodie's love life – as open and frank as a Jackie Collins novel, was exclusively heterosexual. Before he could give order to such thoughts, Tilbury happened.

Doyle, still brooding on that debacle, felt his eyelids grow heavy and taking advantage of the warm afternoon, settled in his chair for a quick nap.

As Doyle slipped into slumber, Bodie quietly undressed. Taking advantage of the solitude, he divested himself of shirt and chinos, folding each item neatly and putting them on his chair. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he completed the difficult manoeuvre of removing underwear and pulling on swimming trunks. Now ready, he walked down to the sea, the breeze caressing his skin and making the hair on his arms stand up.

Doyle woke suddenly a short while later. Bodie was nowhere to be seen. He sat up quickly, scanning the beach. Glancing at the vacant chair, he noted with surprise Bodie's clothes, neatly folded, and his T shirt draped over the back. Standing up Doyle began to look more closely at his surroundings. His gaze strayed to the shore line.

Bodie was standing waist deep in the sea, staring out to the horizon. His arms were crossed about his chest as if were hugging himself, or holding something at bay. Doyle, already clothed in his swimming trunks, walked briskly to the water's edge.

"Bodie! BODIE!"

His friend didn't respond.

Dipping a foot in the water, Doyle made his way further into the sea, thankful it retained the heat from earlier days. He reached his partner and put a hand gently on the man's shoulder. Bodie slowly turned, and Doyle saw close up, the depths of his emotions. Bodie's jaw, so tight, the tendons stood out and his body hard with tension, gave the impression of an immoveable object. What shook Doyle to the core, were the tears streaming down his friend's face.

In a voice, cracking with emotion, he spoke.

"She was twenty three . . . in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was going towards the park with a pushchair. She had a kid, Doyle, a toddler. Did you hear him . . . calling for his mum when the police arrived!"

Doyle knew words were useless.

He recalled the small child in the arms of a young policewoman, and heard again the child's querulous voice: "why's mummy on the ground. Is she sleepy?"

Bodie spoke again.

"It's a fucking shitty job Ray. I do my best . . . try to keep people safe . . . we're sent out on these ops to make the world a better place and then this happens. I couldn't talk him out of it. He knew exactly what he was doing. Using another human being . . . he threw her away like trash. I was helpless Ray."

He scrubbed angrily at the tears sliding down his face.

"Look at me. I can't see the point to it anymore."

Doyle slipped an arm around his friend's shoulders and pulled him close. It was an odd gesture, made on the spur of the moment, and seemed the most natural thing in the world.

"Yes there is a point," he said quietly. "Think of what we've stopped. The drugs, the guns, nasty little secret weapons going to the wrong people. What about Chives and his lot? Think of Ojuka and Parsali – we helped them to sign peace treaties which help a wider community. C'mon Bodie, we're the good guys!"

Bodie turned round.

"And what of us Doyle? I've lost count of the number of hours I've spent in a casualty department, waiting for you, praying you can be patched up and you aren't damaged for life. Hoping I'm 'servicable' for another few years, until my pension's worth having! Who cares about us?"

Doyle said nothing, but stood there, still with his arm around Bodie's shoulders. Slowly, he turned to his friend, and licked away the tear running down Bodie's face, before gently kissing him on the cheek.

Abruptly Bodie pulled away and plunged into the water. He began swimming powerfully across the bay, as if physical action would rid him of the unwanted show of affection.

Doyle, shocked at his own action, watched him for several minutes, before following Bodie into the water. He trod water for a few seconds, before swimming in the opposite direction. He couldn't undo his actions towards Bodie, but suspected that the man wanted to be alone, indeed might even now want to cut the holiday short and return to London.

'_Whatever his does,'_ Doyle thought miserably, _'I've not helped at all.'_ He swam on, around the headland, wondering how he could put things right.

It was late afternoon by the time Doyle returned to the beach. Bode was nowhere to be seen. Doyle was tired, and troubled that his earlier deed was unwelcome. He packed up his belongings silently, and walked back to the hotel. He climbed the stairs to the floor where they had adjoining rooms. Doyle opened the door to his room and went in. He hung his damp towel over the balcony before stripping off his damp trunks. He stood under the shower for a long time, letting the water warm him, and rinse off the sand. He shampooed his hair, and dried himself. Naked, he padded across the room and made himself a cup of tea, before deciding to have a pre dinner nap. He stood still, listening, but there was no sound from Bodie's room. He gently tapped on the connecting door, but there was no hint of movement or sound. Doyle assumed Bodie was asleep or ignoring the noise. Not wanting to face his partner, or possibly ex-partner, again that night. Doyle moved to his bed, slipped under the covers and was soon asleep.

Doyle slept soundly until the next morning, and awoke feeling hungry. He washed swiftly and pulled on jeans and a tee shirt. He made his way downstairs where he found Bodie sitting quietly at the breakfast table, the leavings of a full English on his plate. He greeted Doyle with an embarrassed grin and held his hands up in mock surrender.

"Sorry I didn't make dinner last night mate.I was dog tired after that swim . . . just fell asleep."

Doyle glanced at his friend's plate and the empty toast rack. He spoke, taking the lifeline Bodie had expertly thrown him.

"Me neither, he said." Took it out of me. We'll have to keep it from Macklin. Mind you, you seem to have made up for it," he replied.

The waitress came over and took his order. She returned quickly carrying a tray with Doyle's food, a large pot of tea and two racks of toast.

Doyle ate his breakfast, aware that Bodie kept staring at him. Eventually, realising he couldn't put off an apology or explanation any longer, he asked his friend why. Bodie's reply was both surprising and unexpected.

"When you put your arm round me yesterday . . . wiped away my tears, and kissed me, I wanted to kiss you back," he said guardedly. "I didn't know what you were doing, whether I'd read the signs wrong."

Doyle looked up in surprise.

"What signs?" he asked.

Bodie looked uncomfortable, and Doyle was surprised to see a creeping line of pink move slowly over Bodie's face.

"Don't play with me Ray! I've seen the looks you give when I'm out with Claire, or Jen. The little barbed comments you make about them. Sometimes I think you want to take their place!"

An unwelcome thought pushed its way into his mind

'_I'd give 'em up in a second for a chance with you Ray. Though you'd probably deck me if I said so.'_

He continued.

"I know about you Ray. I know you like playing away from home sometimes. I saw you once, outside that pub in Vauxhall . . . you were with another bloke, broad shouldered, military bearing, tall and dark . . . you should have got a room, the things you were doing!"

Doyle's jaw dropped. He'd always been careful to keep his bisexuality, not exactly secret, but away from the masculine atmosphere of CI5.

"How come you saw me?" he said, regaining his composure. "No-one 'angs around Vauxhall after dark, unless they're a criminal or gay!"

Doyle pushed his plate away and stood up. He walked swiftly out of the dining room, only stopping at the door to beckon to Bodie.

Together, the partners walked out of the hotel and towards the beach. It was cooler today, and there was an unspoken awareness that a degree of honesty between them was required. They walked in silence to the headland, where behind some rocks there was a small area out of sight of the main beach.

Doyle threw himself down on the sand and pulled Bodie with him.

"Right! How did you know I was in Vauxhall?"

"You're not denying it then," asked Bodie.

"No point. I'm not ashamed of shagging men and women – although I wouldn't want it to get out at work. Cowley knows . . ."

Doyle put his arms behind his head.

"I still wanna know what you were doing there. As far I know mate, all your ladies have posh flats in Chelsea or Bayswater. Even the arty ones live in Stoke Newington or Notting Hill. You don't venture south of the river Bodie. Not your style."

Bodie looked down at his friend. Doyle lay there, eyes closed mouth slightly open. Bodie noticed the man's chest was rising and falling more quickly – a sign that Doyle was uneasy.

He began to speak.

"I was in Vauxhall because I'd been to the same pub. I was upstairs in the gallery bar."

Doyle's eyes flew open, and he struggled to sit up.

"What! It's a fucking gay pub mate. Why on earth were you there? It's not yer average local you know."

Bodie looked at Doyle, all shaggy hair and righteous indignation. He saw the wide open almond eyes, and the pouting mouth, and gave a brief snort of laughter!

"You look like someone's joined your gang without asking! I like variety in my sex life. Why do you think I was there Doyle? I'm gay as well. You don't have first dibs on it mate."

Doyle was silent – _'for the first time in living memory'_ thought Bodie. He simply was lost for words. They remained quiet for a few minutes, before Doyle began to speak.

"So you saw Rob then?" he asked. "Notice anything?"

"Apart from his hand stroking your balls, and you sucking his tongue? No I didn't notice anything else," said Bodie somewhat annoyed.

Doyle rolled over on his side.

"He's the nearest thing to your twin," said Doyle quietly. "All the time I was snogging him I was thinking of you. I was trying to imagine you stroking my balls. That's why I go there. I'm trying to 'find' you, you idiot, because I want you. There was no other reason Bodie. Just wanted a bloke who looked as much like you as I could find, and I'd let me brain imagine the rest."

Bodie was dumbfounded. He looked at Doyle. This man, who could and had, had some of the most attractive women around, who was known to be a caring and thoughtful lover or a damn good fuck, depending on which woman you spoke to, was now confirming he wanted to bed his friend and partner.

They sat together, both immersed in their own thoughts. Doyle ever the more empathic of the two noticed the subtle change in his partner. Bodie was back!

"What happens now," wondered Bodie aloud.

"Not sure," replied Doyle.

The morning meandered slowly towards its end, the day never getting warmer. The shadows from the cliffs and rocks grew, leaching what heat was left from the sand. Eventually Bodie stood up and kicked off his shoes. He rolled up his chinos to his knees and sauntered down to the water's edge. He dabbled his toes in the gentle surf, gasping at the initial chill of the water, and then looking forward to each rolling wave, as his skin got used to it. Lost as he was in the action, at first, he didn't notice Doyle come to stand next to him.

"Look at the pair of us," said Doyle. "Trouser legs rolled up, all we need are hankies tied across our heads . . ."

Bodie nodded in agreement.

"Well, now we've both told our secrets, do you think we have a future? It won't be easy at first."

"We can try," said Doyle. "We can see how it goes. See if we want to stay together. We'd have to learn about each other, get used to sharing."

Bodie smiled.

"Oh we're sharing now are we? More than we do already?"

"Yes," agreed Doyle. "I know what I want Bodie . . . always have," he said simply.

Bodie slipped an arm around his friend's waist.

"It'll work Doyle. I've spent too much time thinking about this to cock it up now." He pulled Doyle closer, as if to establish ownership.

The breeze suddenly blew up and the spray danced off the sea showering both men. They didn't notice, as a shared kiss took on a tangy, salty quality.

"And talking of cocks," said Doyle huskily . . .


End file.
